Archive of Our Own

jeongguk looks out the window, to the two empty chairs on the patio. he wishes he could get to the point where he could sit out there without feeling so sad.

he wipes his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, trying not to think about who's it was.

he tries not to think about who's he was, before he lost everything.

jeongguk doesn't have mind to body connection when he grabs a coat and gets a bus to the outskirts of town. the sweater is his favorite, he wears it every day now.

there are teardrops on the bus window, like there are raindrops on his cheeks. he wonders if the skies feel as empty as he does, after they cry. if the sky wonders if the water made it to the flowers or into the sewer system. he wonders where namjoon is, now.

there are a few cars passing by, but it's too late for real traffic. too early, really.

the twilight of dawn is shining over the grassy hills behind the bus stop, and jeongguk finds himself sitting in the grass a ways away, where he can forget about the city lights.

"if you sit right here before sunrise, you can forget about the light pollution-- its just an extra long sunrise. it's beautiful, this way." namjoon says, with a huge smile on his face, and jeongguk looks between his eyes and his lips, nodding along. everything is beautiful.

"it's gorgeous," jeongguk murmurs, leaning towards him.

jeongguk's forehead meets the ground in a bow, rain falling around him. at least the water is meeting the flowers, here. he loses his balance when he straightens up too quick, falling onto his back as he opens his mouth.

the sky cries with him.

he sees all of his friends often, whether they're showing up in his house to check on him, or picking him up to take him to one of their's. the one person that he hasn't seen since-- since. he hasn't seen yoongi since. namjoon called him the brother that he'd always needed, a platonic soulmate. his best friend, an extension of himself.

its why it hurt so bad to see him, whether it was texts or old photos-- its possibly the only tangible connection that he has to namjoon anymore.

he wasn't prepared to see him outside of his door, holding a bag of food and namjoon's work bag.

jeongguk's eyes well up with hot tears immediately, gripping onto the man in front of him like he's going to disappear, too. it's by pure will that he doesn't collapse, though both of them are trembling like leaves. yoongi holds on for beats too long, and jeongguk can see someone who is in the same state of missing someone as he is.

he wishes that he'd gone to see yoongi earlier, even though its just as painful as he thought it would be. if namjoon meant more to anyone than to him and yoongi, he never knew of them.

"i miss him," jeongguk rasps, words pulling along his throat like they're being screamed. yoongi pulls him closer and jeongguk remembers namjoon telling him how yoongi cries-- alone.

"me too."

they sit on the patio and eat their dinner in silence.

namjoon's work bag goes mostly untouched. he moved it into the kitchen the night that yoongi had shown up, and had brushed his hand across it when yoongi told him that namjoon would have wanted him to have everything that he'd made.

"everything i make is for you, jeongguk. you are the muse and inspiration, it's yours." namjoon murmurs, brushing his knuckles against jeongguk's cheek, letting his hand fall to rest around his neck. he's propped up on his elbow, having moved so he could see jeongguk better.

jeongguk's hand traces all of the divots on his chest, looking up at namjoon with awe. he's never felt devotion like namjoon's, and never wants to know anything different. 

"i'm all yours, always." jeongguk whispers against his lips.

the bag is worn, just as all of namjoon's stuff was-- he used things until they had finished serving their purpose, and never wasted. he appreciated everything he had, and this bag never saw a day of abuse. just love.

his fingers shake as he smooths his fingers against the leather, feeling the smoother areas that namjoon had touched the most. the buckle is dull as he unlocks it, and jeongguk nearly forfeits his plan when he flips the top, and sees a familiar picture. he can't help but tear up at the memory, of dancing on their own in the hanok. taehyung had taken the picture around a corner and given it to them as an anniversary present. his head laying on namjoon's chest, arms loosely wound around his hips. namjoon's chin was sitting atop jeongguk's head, hands wrapped tightly around jeongguk's back to keep him held close. their eyes are closed, but jeongguk remembers the moment like they were wide open.

namjoon had kept aside an instrumental he had made, thinking of jeongguk, and had waited until their joint birthday event to show it to him. they'd always agreed to forget presents on birthdays, but namjoon had been too impatient not to show it to him.

"give me the best birthday present, dance with me?" namjoon had asked, all dimples, hand extended. he didn't think twice about taking it.

there were documents from namjoon's work safe, like their hanok papers, phone information, identification cards. there was a ziplock bag with the drives that namjoon used to put music on. then, his lyric journal. he'd had many, but this is the one that he'd had when he began writing music. if there was a song from any other journal that he had faith in making it big, he'd write the final draft in this book. jeongguk hadn't ever looked inside, though he knew he could have if he really wanted to.

now, as he opens it, he realizes how much more this notebook had actually been to namjoon.

there are pictures in the margins of his friends, written notes about his best days and his worst, and of course, the songs he'd had faith in.

i met this boy at our company tour, today. we made eye contact, and i fell on my ass, throwing yoongi's coffee over him and myself. all he did was laugh, and i think that it may be the most beautiful thing i've ever heard. i could write songs about him.

the first note he reads about himself, jeongguk can't help but laugh. at the bottom of the page, in what looked to be the more recent version of namjoon's handwriting, was an additional note.

i do write songs about him. i write songs for him. his laugh still is the most beautiful thing in the world.

he lays the book down on the side table on the empty side of the bed, and falls asleep easier than he has since.

yoongi shows up more often, now that the bandaid is ripped away. some days they sit in silence, and others they talk about their weeks. a few times, yoongi has tried to bring up namjoon, but jeongguk isn't ready. he doesn't know that he'll ever be.

still, yoongi will press until he's got his point across. "he'd be devastated, that you've reduced yourself to this, jeongguk." yoongi whispers, sat forward in the arm chair. it's painful for jeongguk to see someone else sit there, but he won't kick yoongi out of it. there's no one to sit in it, anymore. "he hated seeing you sad, you know."

"you too," jeongguk whispers.

yoongi's smile is sad. "gguk. i know namjoon loved me, but he was in love with you. he saw my pain, he felt yours. he'd want you to move on, to not be so sad. you've got to eat, shower, take care of yourself. i know i've been bad about those, but i'm trying. you've got to try." he murmurs, hoarsely. only silence answers.

silence is all that ever answers.

it doesn't matter if he can see namjoon in everything that he does, every time he comes home, every time that he visits with friends. it's only loneliness.

yoongi presses a lingering, sad kiss on the top of his head as he leaves.

jeongguk hasn't been in namjoon's home office since he died.

until now, as long as the door is shut, jeongguk is all right. namjoon is just working on music, spinning in his chair when he's bored.

when he opens the door, he feels like he can see namjoon, in his beautiful self, smiling at him from the chair. the image fades as he takes in a breath, and jeongguk regrets it immediately.

he has the bag of music drives in his hand, and a list from yoongi letting him know which ones were which. the yellow one, namjoon's voice tracks for unapproved songs. the black one, his favorite songs, the white one, miscellaneous videos, pictures, music. and the blue one, a song that just said 'jeongguk's'.

normally, that's the exact thing he'd avoid when he doesn't want to cry. but tonight, he feels like its what he should be listening to-- this song that namjoon wanted him to have.

he sets the koala stuffed animal that namjoon had set in the chair into his lap as he plugs it in to the computer, and starts the system up.

when the monitor turns on, the picture is the same as the one in their frame. jeongguk's lips purse in a thin line. after unlocking it, and closing the tabs with namjoon's email, still open, he finds the file folders, and finds the song. his song.

it opens up in the recording program, and as soon as it starts, jeongguk knows what it is.

it's the song. the instrumental that he'd saved for jeongguk. the one that they'd danced to, so many years ago, that he has a picture of. the song.

his eyes close, squeezing the stuffed animal close. he's run out of tears, but this doesn't make him as sad as it does comfort him. namjoon is playing this song for him, to ask him to dance. he can feel his strong arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss into his head. namjoon would have rocked the chair gently to soothe him, just like he always did when showing jeongguk something.